The Call of Wind
by sparkleofhope
Summary: "My brothers were born a soft whistle: quiet, barely stirring the air, two gentle sounds. But I was born all the hurricane they needed to lift - and drop - those that hurt them to the ground." Temari SI-OC Insert!


" _We don't hear the wind, we hear the sound things make as it moves over them."_

Do you know that feeling, the one you get after you wake-up from a dream? You feel lost, out of place, as if that was real and what you are living right now with your eyes open it's fake.

That's how I felt when I found out I died. Realization hit me only a few years later. My memories from my past life came in fragments, not all at once. They felt surreal, like I was watching somebody's else experiences, not mine. I was firmly convinced that my current existence was the only one I've ever had.

How could I admit a world without chakra existed when I was so painfully aware that chakra had been a part of me since birth? How could I accept there was a place and a time where my name didn't matter? Where my actions wouldn't count as big or important in the grand scheme of things? Where I would live and die like a commoner?

Where I didn't feel wind swirling inside my heart, giving me strength and a sense of eternity? _Wind is forever. Fire dies out, Water evaporates, Earth gets crushed._

Wind lived on, even when nothing else did or would. I have always liked that idea. Of having the world aware I exist. Of leaving an impact on people and surroundings. _Isn't this what life is all about?_

I already knew the answer and because I knew that I wanted so much more than what had been given to me the first time, I was determined to make the most of my second chance, of my second life.

 _No,_ I thought as the wind howled around me. _My only life._ The rest was just that...an illusion, a faraway blurred picture that I hardly wanted to acknowledge as ever belonging to me.

 _I died._

 _Without having truly lived._

So, you can imagine why I didn't want to remember anything that came before, why I refused to dwell on silly, pitiful pieces of a puzzle that wasn't worth solving, wasn't worth my attention period.

"Look ahead Temari, what do you see?"

What did I see, really? Sand. Lots and lots of sand. Rising from the ground like giants. It baffled me how the dunes looked equally fragile and everlasting.

I ignored the voice in my head saying they will still be here long after I am gone. I leaned against the railing and squinted my eyes, somehow knowing the man beside me won't satisfied with such a childish answer. It was obvious I had to look beyond the surface to find the right one.

"I see the village." When I answered, I didn't dare look at him for confirmation, convinced father would know I wasn't sure of myself if I did. I had learned early on that there was little room he was willing to make for doubts and weakness when it came to family. Thus, I strived to meet his expectations.

"What else?"

I huffed quietly. _Of course it wouldn't be that easy._ I bit my cheek, racking my brain for information I didn't think I had. Looking down carefully, I realized the ants I thought I saw earlier were actually human beings. They came in all kinds of ages and sizes. Shinobi and civilians alike. Smiling, laughing, spending time together.

My eyes softened in understanding.

"I see the people you are supposed to protect." That was the Kazekage's duty, wasn't it? To be strong enough to defend everyone. "Why are we having this conversation?" Just because I didn't do not deliver what had been asked of me, I couldn't help but feel a little confused.

"So you understand why I do what I do. Sometimes, there isn't a good choice and you have to pick the lesser evil of the two." he paused, looking far older than I had ever seen him, forehead creased into a troubled frown.

Behind us, a shinobi cleared his throat. "Kazekage-sama, your presence is needed in the council room."

My father sighed, quietly enough that I barely heard it at all. "Very well. Take my daughter to her mother." then his eyes flickered to me. "Be good, Temari."

It was an easy request. I wouldn't risk mother's health for anything in the world. "Hai, tou-sama." I bowed slightly before I left the balcony, knowing the shinobi assigned to guard me was not too far behind.

Being the eldest child of the Kazekage had its own kind of risks. I could be kidnapped and used as a bargaining toll or brainwashed into betraying the village. Get tortured for information, or simply die a horrible death.

The possibilities were endless and against reason, against my self-preservation instinct, the thought of running to escape had never crossed my mind.

Or if it had, it wasn't anything substantial but more of a passing thought. It came and left most days. I didn't know whether my current upbringing was to blame or the fact that my adult mind had been suppressed for three years, during which, my childlike-self had absorbed, like a sponge does to water, the belief that _There is no greater honour than that of becoming a Sunagakure shinobi._

Once I regained my maturity and got brutally assaulted by the memory of a life that was no longer mine, I realized just how fucked things really were.

Yet, against that, I still refused to take the easy way out.

 _I am Sabaku no Temari._

Running was not an option for people like me. Fighting was. Enduring was.

* * *

It's winter when my mother goes into labour. The Kazekage Tower is filled with blood-curling screams. Had I known nothing of pregnancies, I would have been positively mortified by the sounds. As such, my concern is minimal at best.

Though some part of me can't shake off the feeling that she won't make it through the night.

Panic is a four-letter word which describes what the people around me are currently like. They jump, yell instructions, argue, flap their arms comically. In a corner of the hallway, some people pray.

And I'm not the only one who notices.

"Is kaa-san going to die?"

I advert my eyes from the crowd and focus on my younger brother instead. Kankuro doesn't cry, not any more than I do. I suppose he is too little to fully grasp the meaning of death. Or maybe he is waiting to see the outcome. Either way, I have no idea how to answer him.

"Temari?"

I blink, jarred out of my thoughts when he calls out to me and pulls on the sleeves of my blouse. A sigh goes past my lips. "Define dead."

He looks up at me, confused, brown eyes squinted. "Define?"

I bite my lip to stop frustration from giving voice to my thoughts. I proceed to explain what I meant instead. "What do you think happens after you die, Kankuro?"

"Something bad." he replies.

"Why bad?" I retort.

"People only pray when bad happens." he mumbles.

I rub at my temples, take his hand, and make my way through the crowd. If anyone thinks of stopping us, I pointedly ignore their attempts and pick a random chunin to solve this mess. "Excuse me, what do you pray for?"

He looks at us, puzzled at first and then, as if remembering our identity, bows his head. "To thank Kami for everything good in my life."

"I pray to have luck."

"I pray to find my soulmate."

"I pray for happiness."

We go bother another one and another one. I dare them with my eyes to give us a negative answer. Fortunately, nobody feels like angering Suna's princess tonight. I make sure to steer clear of the old ladies in that corner, though. Kankuro doesn't seem to mind, too busy thinking about everything he has just heard.

"Kaa-san won't die."

I'm lying to him. I know I am. Everyone knows I do but Kankuro smiles and for the time being, that's the only thing that matters.

Then our mother lets out one more defeaning, powerful scream before Gaara is born. She doesn't die immediately but I don't go to see her. Kankuro stays with me, little fists clutching onto my clothes with an iron grip. He wants to trust my words, I see it in his eyes but somehow knows...we only have each other now.

Father doesn't count. He is the Kazekage and ultimately the reason why things go south at some point in the timeline.

He comes to take us, eventually. I stare, without shame, only to come to the frightening realization that this is a true shinobi and so much unlike all the glorified versions people have read to me about before. There isn't an even a hint of emotion present on his face. No anger, nor sadness for his deceased wife and no joy, nor pride for his newborn son.

Kankuro lets go of me as soon as he sees him.

He doesn't cry.

Oh, he does all the things a child who suffers do. Screams, demands answers, demands affection, comfort, safety.

But he doesn't cry.

None of us do.

 _Because we are the Sand. If the harsh weather doesn't make us flinch, nothing else can._

So, it is with a great deal of irony that I gaze at my red-haired, blue-eyed, crying sibling. _Babies cry all the time. It's only logical_ , I stubbornly tell myself as tiny fingers curl around my pinky. Then my breath catches in my throat when the following thought hits me like a ton of bricks:

 _If so, then why does it feel like Gaara is crying for us, crying the tears we are not allowed to shed?_

I look between the two of them. Kankuro has attached himself to me again, even fiercer than before. It makes sense considering the night that passed. I'm the closest thing he has to a mother figure now. Gaara doesn't let go of my pinky and I can't find the will to detach myself either. He has stopped crying but looking at him now made me realize how fragile and how vulnerable and how awe-inspiring humans are at the beginning of their journey.

So really, is it any wonder at all why in the life I have found myself thrown into that I cling to this image of them, small and sad and in need of my protection?

My brothers were born a soft whistle: quiet, barely stirring the air, two gentle sounds. But I was born all the hurricane they needed to lift - and drop - those that hurt them to the ground.


End file.
